


Sweetheart

by Liquoriceowl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Asphyxiation, Biting, Blood, Bruises, Gun Kink, M/M, Nosebleed, Rough Sex, Violence, they fuck on a table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 05:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19846777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquoriceowl/pseuds/Liquoriceowl
Summary: Ivan invites Alfred for a drink, but it works out different than planned and Alfred becomes an emotional, horny mess.He tries to dom ... "tries"How does one write summaries again?





	Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Drewyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drewyth/gifts).



> I'm still a starter in terms of fanfic  
> I just wanted to write some sins for my favourite america  
> enjoy your sins drew  
> *finger guns*

Ivan had invited him for a drink and for some reason Alfred couldn't figure out for himself, he had agreed, even though he usually didn't drink without a reason, except when Arthur asks him to join him. 

He had told him he would have to do something beforehand and meet him there and Alfred had said yes again.

On the one side, the American was a master when it came to disagreeing with the Russian but on the other side Ivan was also very ... convincing?   
Their shared past was widely complicated as it was.

It's been very long since they had an actual political quarell that would cause them to be at each other's throats, so.. it has been quiet. Which is why Alfred wondered what the occasion for the offer was. Usually when they were alone,affection, or rather desire, would dominate their encounters. Affetion sounded too soft considering the bruises and bitemarks Alfred had to hide from Arthur each time after seeing Ivan. 

Alfred was always distraught, when he woke and had more signs of their nights than the other, so he got determined to scratch and harm where he could, but Ivan restricted him, tied him up, or held him down over and over. The best he had been able to accomplish was ramming his elbow into Ivan's nose, making it bleed. A satisfied expression turned into half-panic, half-arousal as Ivan commenced strangling Alfred as punishment, obsessed with feeling Alfred's pulse quicken and stutter under the pressure of his fingers. 

Alfred couldn't deny he had liked it.

But fuck, why was he thinking about that anyway? It's been years since they had last done it. Ivan has gotten quieter after the soviet union got dissolved, but the dangerous aura around him didn't lessen. It merely got covered up by his two-timing smile and the fact that Ivan had started talking a tone or so higher in an attempt to make himself sound nicer, but it only added to the creepy attitude. 

Alfred stared at the Jack and coke he had ordered before Ivan had even arrived, watching the ice cubes vanish before he finally took a sip of the slightly watered down beverage. He furrowed his eyebrows at the mixed feelings that swarmed inside his head and the feeling of the whisky burning in his throat. 

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget how the other's touch had felt on his skin, nevermind the harsh treatment, because in the end Ivan had seen value in Alfred, not only that, but also acknowledgement. Nowadays, America had problems being taken seriously, but Ivan knew better, was aware of the danger behind that smiley facade Alfred put on. After all, Ivan was doing the same.

He was like these wooden dolls you put into one another; Matryoshkas.   
Ivan owned a couple, of course, they originated from his country. He liked them. Alfred found them strange, but he could understand why Ivan adored them. They were similar.   
The deeper you get, the more layers you peel off, the rougher the emotions you're confronted with. 

Alfred took his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose. 

"Come on, stop overthinking.“, he murmured to himself, as he downed half his drink, fishing out his phone to distract himself. A message was displayed.

"I'm late, wait for me.“

Alfred huffed a laugh. How much he had waited already. How patient he was, how much he longed for Russia to return the useless feelings, he was not supposed to have. It couldn't be named love, no, it was merely desire and the feeling of confirmation that drove him to want Russia. 

Alfred took another gulp. 

Ordered another drink. 

Waited another 15 minutes. 

Another drink.

Another... 

When Ivan arrived at the pub 40 minutes late, Alfred had already consumed two Jack and coke and the white russian he had supposedly ordered for Ivan, leaving him tipsy, most likely more. 

Alfred had not seen Ivan approach, eyes closed as he leaned back against the wall to concentrate on getting the alcohol in his system under control, so he would not seem as drunk as he was or throw up. 

"What an interesting sight.“, Ivan chimed, slightly amused the see the American like this, aching to detect the source of it. 

The one spoken to startled, wasting no second to open his eyes and face his highest-ranking issue, disregarding the other's eyes nonetheless. Ivan was staring right into him, this much he could tell from the familiar chill Alfred experienced. 

"You're late.“, he muttered. Instead of his scarf and coat, Ivan wore a dark blue turtleneck, to cover the familiar scars on his neck, but Alfred saw them anyway. It's like he's the only one to notice the this choking halo shine through the fabric. 

"Seems so. You couldn't have waited just a bit to get rid of your braincells?“ Russia's mocking added to Alfred's irritation. 

"Just tryna match the amount of yours.“ Alfred flashed a smile, but you were able to detect, that it took him an effort to form coherent sentences without slurring. 

Ivan's expression remained unfazed as he sat down in front of Alfred, waving at the barkeeper to order two more white russian. He actually didn't want Alfred to consume more alcohol, but he would have complained if he hadn't ordered for both of them, about how Russia thinks he can't hold it and how he doesn't want to watch Ivan drink by himself because it's called „sharing drinks“. 

After the drinks were set down in front of them Alfred had a difficult time not downing it immediately. Ivan's presence was causing him to feel dizzier than the alcohol could ever, so maybe he could even it out? At least he believed so. 

Instead, he only took a careful sip, painfully aware of the other's continuous staring. Was he planning to bore holes into Alfred? 

"What is it?“, Alfred asked, ambitious to return the eye contact now. His pride wouldn't allow him to show weakness. So he told himself, as he focused on not wandering off into these lavender fields. 

"Just curious. I wanted to have a friendly drink and here you are, looking like you have a personal reason to get drunk. Mind telling me?“

"Can I not drink when I feel like it?“ 

"The last time you voluntarily had more than one drink, was when your president got elected.“

Alfred's stomache turned at the thought of their current president. 

"Gotta celebrate, right?“, he lied, horribly, the word „celebrate“ bitter on his tongue in correlation to that guy. 

"You'd rather wax that pathetic 'hair' off his head with duct tape, than celebrate his position.“ 

Ivan had described it well, his russian accent making it sound more of a threat than it ever would from Alfred's mouth. The younger was too predictable after all.   
The grip on his glass tightened to a point where Alfred could break it with just a bit more pressure.   
What could he possibly say to avert the inevitable? He took a deep breath, the feeling the alcohol had left in his mouth spreading to his nose. 

"Look, I-“, he barely started but got cut off immediately.

"Is it because of me?“

America froze. There it was. Ivan's talent to read Alfred like an open book with the font size of a children's tale. 

Don't hesitate, Alfred. Hesitation equals anything but the truth. 

„Hah, why would it be?“, Alfred retorted, sweating at the base of his neck, as he realized he had taken too long to answer. The slight movement of Ivan's lip quirking up at its corners didn't go unnoticed. 

"Ah, you know“, he said, his eyebrow raised as he brought the glass to his lip, the liquid passing oh so soft lips. Alfred was painfully aware of the suggestive move of Ivan's leg nudging against his own under the table by total accident, of course. 

"You seem pretty agitated by my presence.“ 

Alfred gulped, unable to produce any answer to nullify Ivans accusation.   
Meanwhile Ivan leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms, seemingly inspecting the American like a test object, a pet. 

"That's your imagination, pal.“, Alfred lied, imitating Ivan's pose, straightening his back. He burned, couldn't tell if it was the sudden need to challenge the other to assert dominance or the alcohol warming him up from the inside. 

Ivan hummed, tilting his head to the left, his eyes narrowing in amusement. 

"My imagination has a lot to offer when it comes to you.“ 

Alfred shivered, his body remembering all those times Ivan's cold fingers had traced his skin, like an artist contemplating the approach on his canvas, which colors he would use, how much pressure he would apply.. It made him sick how much control Ivan had over him, so sick he had to laugh, catching him off guard. 

"You know what, enlighten me.“ 

Ivan's eyebrows rose as he brought the glass to his lips again, emptying its remaints. Alfred died to know how he could swallow that stuff without showing any reaction, but he was too impatient to receive an answer to wonder about it more than a split-second. 

"I'd love to … bring some light into that idiotic head of yours, but I'd prefer you sober if that was the case. Let's call it a night.“ 

Alfred was confused. Call it a night? He barely arrived, it's been 15 minutes! But then again, he most likely didn't expect to find Alfred intoxicated already... what has he been thinking? He slumped into his seat, eyes sliding to the table, in shame. 

"Whatever.“, was his almost silent response as he took out his wallet, just so Ivan could wave it off and place a 50$ bill on the desk to pay, as if he had been there the whole time. 

"I'll accompany you home.“ 

Alfred ground his teeth, all kinds of feelings flooding his brain and body, as he rougly tugged his bomber jacket off his chair, not minding to put it on as he strove past Ivan towards the exit, who was all but smiley, obviously satisfied to once again have brought misery upon his arch enemy. 

He didn't spare a look behind him to see if the Russian was following him, he was sure of it, as he tried not to tumble over himself as he moved down the street towards his apartment. If only he could disclose the distance between them, but the other's foot steps were almost mute, even less detectable under the constant thrum of alcohol in Alfred's ears. 

White noise waltzed his vision whenever he caught a glimpse of headlights and traffic lights. It bothered him, but not as much as the shadow stalking him. Alfred wasn't stupid to be fair, but his senses were fucked, his brain a maze, but he was trying very hard to come up with something, anything to say to undermine Ivan's accusations from before. 

At the crossing, Alfred came to a halt, turning to face Ivan and confront him, startled by the unexpected proximity of the Russian. In fact, it surprised him so much, he staggered backwards onto the street. 

If that wasn't enough already, a red mazda was approaching fast, its lights blinding him. His heart suddenly beat thrice as past. Panic had paralyzed him. 

With a swift tug on the American's arm, Ivan pulled him out of the way of the speeding car, hauling him towards his own sturdy frame as Alfred did no less than trip over himself at the sudden movement. America held onto the other's arm as he slowly looked up, freezing in place at the sight of eyes that caused him to feel like he was drowning in lavender.

The Russian's face held almost no expression, just curiosity as to why Alfred acted this unfazed, before an amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.  
His free arm came up to cup the other's face.

"You know...you can resume breathing, yes?"

Alfred's eyes widened as he realised he has in fact not been breathing. As on command, he took a sharp breath as if he was experiencing fresh air for the first time. Nevertheless, he still felt constricted, as if Ivan was holding his throat tight, although he was touching him with care, too much care considering their relationship. 

Alfred swallowed and ripped himself out of the man's grip, sensing that Ivan hasn't been ready to let go yet entirely. 

He was almost able to see the disappointment on Ivan's face, but he couldn't care less, he shouldn't.   
Alfred has fallen for his schemes countless times, ended up in situations filling him with regret, but he can't deny he had hated them. Much the opposite, but he wouldn't ever let that slip past his lips. 

"Leave me alone.“ 

America's words were coated with bitterness, his only chance to collect himself and not fall into his trap again. Russia folded his arms behind his back and smiled, that damned fake smile. 

"Are you able to find your way safely without my aid?“ 

"This is my country, I know it better than you could ever know yours!“ 

With his head on fire, he resumed his way home, leaving his own personal demon behind at the crossing. He had been going for minutes and still felt the burning gaze in the back of his head. After one corner, he slumped against the facade of a random building. The cold material calmed him a tiny bit. 

He finally felt like he could breath again, being out of the other's physical reach. Nevertheless, his body reminded him of the brief touch, his arm tingling at the memory. 

For a bit, he just gazed up into the night sky, collecting himself, observing the cigarette smoke coming from one of the windows. He had done it again. 

–

When Alfred entered the conference room the next day, the first thing he acknowledged was a pair of eyes following his every movement, until America sank down into his chair, finally returning the Russian's interested ogling. His head was buzzing, hungover apparent, but by god, he would pay Russia back later.

The tension was thick, as the remaining guests set foot into the place, failing to note the spite radiating off America. Russia appeared as usual to them as well, having always been an eerie, grinning bastard. Solely, Alfred knew something was off about him.

During the conference, Alfred wasn't able to focus on the matters at hand, his eyes flicking to Russia whenever he lacked the concentration, which didn't aid to stabilize his center of attention onto whatever Arthur was currently pointing out. Ivan however kept his eyes glued on whoever was speaking, conscious of Alfred, and ignoring him on purpose. 

That bastard was luring him again. 

His hand repeatedly turned into a fist and uncurled again, as his mind ran slideshows of how he could possibly pay Russia back for the countless times he had rendered him defenseless for Ivan to have his will. 

The hours ran by leisurely, with America forcing himself through his part of the talking with great effort. He was utterly glad this conference wasn't handling a truly serious issue, that needed them all to exit it with a clear conclusion. 

So when, it finally ended, Alfred stood seated, pulling out his phone to cover up his intenion of staying until everyone else left, by acting like he was going through various messages. 

Ivan took the hint, extending the time he needed to sort his papers until they were the only ones left. 

Silence stretched itself over the big room, until Alfred decided to get up and make it his responsibility to make sure nobody would walk in on them. He dragged the guest chair next to the door over and stuck it under the door handle to block anyone from intruding. 

Russia was absorbed in reading one of the papers on his desk, overgoing the information, as America came up behind him. The corners of his lips rose as he bend down, his hands on Ivan's shoulders, as he whispered. 

"It's your turn now, darling.“ 

The papers were disregarded, the chair swung around so Ivan faced Alfred. Alfred's right hand found the other's scarf, the other grasped his shoulder. 

"My turn? Mind to eloberate?“, Russia hummed, his head shifting back so he could see him better. 

The grip on the scarf tightened as Alfred used it to pull Ivan as close as possible, their lips almost touching. Almost. 

"You fucking piss me off and it turns me on so much I hate you even more."

Ivan's eyes looked darker now, his smile showing the tiniest bit of teeth. 

"Seems like you are yourself again, sweetheart“ 

Ah, there it was. The petname. Russia used it whenever they were alone, alongside some other more vulgar ones, depending on the occasion. 

His next action basically spelled out „go fuck yourself“, as he closed the gap between them, capturing Ivan's lips in a rough kiss, tongues battling fiercely for a few moments until Ivan became too ambitious. Alfred wouldn't give Ivan a chance to claim dominance over the situation, so he bit down on his lip, drawing blood, satisfied at the feeling over Ivan's lip breaking under his teeth. 

Ivan remained silent, as he licked the blood from his lips. The way he eyed Alfred was intense, full of flashing warning signs, but this wouldn't stop him. He'd have his fun as long as possible. So he did. 

His left hand traveled from his shoulder up into those soft, ash blond locks, holding them tight as he pulled his head back. Somewhere in the back of his head, his conscience told him he shouldn't play with fire, but in this instant, he was willing to burn his hand.

"This view of you is exceptional.“ 

"How sweet of you.“ 

"I'm the sweetest, always.“

Ivan's lips quirked up, more to mock than amused. 

"Like poison.“ 

"Taste me well, then.“ 

Alfred placed his knee inbetween Ivan's legs on the chair to support himself as he stole another kiss from those soft lips, and Ivan did taste him well, that's for sure. As Alfred's tongue roamed aound Ivan's mouth, the hand on his scarf worked to get rid of the accessory. It would just be in the way. 

Out of breath, they seperated, Alfred taking a sharp breath, before dipping down into the crook of his now bare neck. For a second he glanced at the scars decorating Ivan's neck, before deciding to lick over them, slow and hot. He was more than satisfied when Ivan's breath hitched just the slighest. This was his weak spot after all. 

It sparked a feeling in Alfred he didn't know existed and desired to explore further. So he searched for the scar right over his carotid artery and pushed into the hollow with the tip of his tongue. Somewhere else he bit into the scarred white skin, savoring the almost unnoticeable tremor coming from Ivan. How we wanted to break his self control. 

He became braver now, yearning for those kind of reactions from the usually so silent and composed Ivan Braginsky. Next, he looked for that spot under his ear, sucking a dark bruise into the porcelain colored skin and another near his collarbone after he had opened the two top buttons of his dress shirt. 

Alfred was astonished that the other was letting him do these kind of things to him, but for how long he wondered? He was still busy with those scars, immersed in how much of a sensitive spot it seemed to be, as he dug his nails into the lines at the sides of his neck. Without realising it, a content smile placed itself on his face as he admired his work. 

"Are you done, now?“

Alfred snapped out of it, his attention on Ivan's face again, and those eyes. Those astounding eyes. 

"D...depends.“

Shit, he shouldn't have stuttered. 

Something in Russia's expression then changed abruptly, Alfred knew it too well. Quick and strong hands rougly grabbed Alfred by his ass, as Ivan turned them and heaved him onto the table, not minding how careful he was about it or being concerned about the papers. 

"Now, now. You enjoyed yourself quite a bit there.“, Ivan murmured, his hand ghosting over the spots, where Alfred had tarnished his neck. The latter swallowed his anxiety and grinned. 

"You seemed to like it too, sugar.“ 

Ivan huffed a laugh.

"Don't get too cocky, sweetheart.“, he whispered as he ground his hips into Alfred's, attempting to swipe the bratty look off his face. Apparently it wasn't sufficient, but nonetheless Alfred gave off a low grunt at the sensation. His hair had found Ivan's hair again, grabbing it tighter than before to declare his challenge. 

"Make me.“ 

Ivan was honestly bewildered at the sudden boldness, after yesterday's events. But he took the invitation. One of his hands found his tie, pulled it off, proceeding with the buttons of the white shirt until America sat there with his chest out, open for Ivan to have his way. 

"You're much more fun like this. When you think you're in control... it's more entertaining to take it from you.“

With that, Ivan returned the favor, biting down on Alfred's shoulder. The younger one groaned underneath him, the grip on his hair strengthening. By chance, his hips jumped up and towards the other's as Ivan broke through skin, leaving red crescents. 

Alfred had to support himself with one hand on the desk, slipping on one of the papers, as Ivan made an effort to leave even darker bruises on him. His head fell back as he indulged in that feeling, appreciating the soft hair brushing against his jaw. 

Suddenly, Ivan gripped both of his wrists and pinned them down onto the wood next to Alfred's head. He shot him a look, that signalized him not to move, or else. So Alfred stayed put for now, enjoying how Russia's big, strong hands brushed down his torso from neck to waist. One hand dug into his side, holding him possessively, while the other took its place at his thigh. 

Ivan took great pride in Alfred's boner pressing against his leg. As well as the rest of America sprawled out for him, a buffet ready to be devoured. If there wasn't that rebellious spark in the other's eyes, causing him to picture various dishes shattered all over the floor. 

"You look like you still got some fight left in you, am I wrong?“

"Oh, bet on it.“ 

America's hand found Ivan's cheek, who curiously eyed it as it caressed the soft skin, its touch warm. He let him, even leaned into the touch. Tentatively, Alfred stretched his thumb out to brush against the other's lips. Ivan glared at him, assumed he would bite it off, but instead he captured his thumb with his mouth, running his tongue over the digit. Alfred's eyes widened in both shock and arousal. Unlike most of Russia, his tongue was warm, wet.. Alfred couldn't tear his eyes away. 

Ivan waited for the exact moment Alfred became too eager and moved his thumb further into Ivan's mouth, to let go and slap his hand aside. 

"I told you to not get too cocky, didn't I, sweetheart?“ 

"And I told you..“ 

Alfred started, having caught himself after being mesmerized by that little show. He propped himself up to be at eye level with Russia, pronouncing every syllable slow and seductively. 

"Make.. me..“ 

Ivan smiled, as if terror materialized itself in his eyes. Oh, how good he would make him obey.   
Serving as distraction, he seized Alfred's lips again, noticing how hungry he was to not let himself get dominated. Alfred was too busy nipping at Ivan's lower lip to notice him moving his hand inside of his coat. 

Oh, how amusing. 

The younger couldn't have predicted Ivan pulling out his Nagant M1895 and backhanding him across the face with the said weapon. Alfred reeled in the opposite direction, muttering a choked up curse as he held a hand up to his features. His head was spinning, ears ringing, from the impact. He inspected his hand and found that his nose was bleeding, convinced that this would hurt a whole ass lot later. Right now adrenaline numbed his senses as he snapped his head back towards Ivan. 

"What the fuck-“ 

The threat died in his throat as the revolver was jammed under his jaw, the cold steel digging into heated skin. Ivan closed in to lick the blood running down Alfred's nose off his lips. 

"What were you saying again?“ 

Alfred grit his teeth, annoyed at himself over how horny he felt even with a gun pointed to blow his brains out. Danger in general spurred him on, which most likely contributes to his attraction towards this terrifying man. 

Ivan forced him back onto the table by the barrel of his gun, then pushed it against his pulse. Alfred could taste his blood in his mouth, but luckily it didn't bleed as much so he wouldn't choke on it miserably. 

"You look adorable.“

"Go fuck yourself.“ 

It slipped. Alfred tensed, awaiting another blow, that didn't come. Instead Ivan dug his nails into his side and raked them down, causing the other the arch up and almost whimper. It satisfied him deeply to see America painted with red streaks and other marks, so he repeated his motion, harsher this time. 

"I see, you still have no manners.“ 

Russia's voice was like a low rumble as he bend down to lick over Alfred's nipples, biting into them as soon as they had hardened. He relished the anticipated intakes of air America took whenever another spot of him got his attention. 

Alfred couldn't focus, jumping back and forth between the different feelings, but ultimately his pants growing too tight seemed to be his biggest issue. Just when he thought he couldn't get harder, Ivan grabbed his hip and ground into him. Alfred's head fell back as he moaned.

"Nhh .. fuck.. Ivan..“ 

Ivan smiled against a fresh hickey on Alfred's collarbone at the sound of his name from those sinful lips. Then he unlocked his revolver, the „click“ making the american jump, the mechanism vibrating indigenously against his neck. 

Alfred watched as Ivan dragged the gun down his body to its new position in front of his erection, subconsciously squirming away from the barrel as much as the immovable grip on his hip allowed. 

"You look like a whore.“, Ivan stated, scraping the revolver over the fabric of Alfred's pants, not missing the twitch from beneath it. Alfred shuddered at the degrading name. 

All of a sudden, he let go of Alfred, taking a step back. Alfred froze, expecting him to leave him there all needy and … 

"Get those off.“

The demand was directed at Alfred's pants and he was fast to comply, temporarily getting off the table, god his legs felt so weak, as he worked them off. Aware of the overseeing eyes, he did as fast as he could without falling. 

As soon as his erection was free, Ivan hauled him back onto the table, hissing at the delicious pressure on his cock. Ivan opened his coat and took something out and Alfred had never been happier to see a bottle of lube, especially after he had been threatened, called names, punched... he could continue this list forever if he took each of their sexual encounters in consideration. 

"Don't look too happy now, sweetheart.“

Alfred's heart skipped a beat. 

"You've been bad earlier. Convince me you deserve this.“ He swayed the bottle between his fingertips, looking past it at Alfred. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden, his palms sweating. This game was familiar too. He wanted him to beg and lose more and more bits of his pride. 

"Please... Ivan..“ 

"Please what?“ 

The gun was back, tilting up his chin so Ivan could properly look into those eyes, that reflected the glistening ocean like no other. Alfred swallowed. It wasn't like he had any dignity left right now with his cock practically dripping inbetween them. 

"Please, fuck me... use me..“ 

If Alfred had something along the lines 'make me feel good', Ivan wouldn't have been satisfied. Having sex with Ivan for the pleasure of both was in the past, before the cold war specifically. But either way, Alfred was gonna get fucked. 

"Hmmm... well done.“ 

The Nagant was put aside quietly, to Alfred's relief, but also slight disappointment.   
Alfred licks his lips when Ivan lubed up his fingers and positioned them at his entrance, one legged propped over his shoulder. Upon Ivan pushing two fingers into Alfred, his head fell back again with a soft thud. It's usually painful at first, but that was nothing compared to the pain in his face from the hit. Shameless noises left his lips as Ivan fingered him loose. 

The wet noises made Alfred insane along with the murmur of russian words he didn't know the meaning of. Ivan didn't waste too much time on preparing the other, he wasn't known as patient after all, but the same counted for America, if not more. 

So Ivan quickly decided it was sufficient and he proceeded with lubing his member. Each time Alfred saw it, it intimidated him. It wasn't monstrous, but … well.. big, filling, mouthwatering. He cursed himself. 

The grip on Alfred's thigh was harsh, but he was used to it, and also too preoccupied to care as Ivan aligned himself, watching Alfred's expression precisely. A deep groan elicited from his throat as Russia pressed in slowly, knocking the air out of Alfred's lungs. 

He was given mere seconds to adjust before Russia pulled back and shoved himself in again right away. He was being reduced to a moaning mess the more Russia's pace increased and the deeper he got. Russia's grip on his thigh and hip was going to leave additional bruises, he was sure of it. 

A choked "fuck“ got out, as he thought about the fact that he had wanted to pay Russia back, but landed in the same damn situation as always. He wasn't even entirely ashamed, too horny to care this instant, but he would regret it later. 

"Hey, sweetheart, look at .. me .. will you?“ 

The order came with breaks indicated with every thrust. Alfred squinted at Ivan. Sometimes he forgot how handsome the russian looked, with his wide shoulders. How nicely his slightly curly hair had fallen out of place, how his eyes glinted and how his white skin had gained some color there and there. Alfred has had the chance to leave his imprints on that broad jaw and god, how well they fit there. 

He was reminded of the first time he had met him back in the late 1800s. Back then he had worn his brocade made kaftan, at least to their first meeting, instead of the coat he nowadays wore. He had been out to make an impression after all. Aside from that, he hadn't worn his scarf all the time during that time period, since the.. incident with his scars happened much later. Alfred had fallen for him, so did Ivan, less willing, but just as fast. But things had changed. 

Alfred hadn't realised one of his hands had shot up to touch Ivans neck, embracing it with a sudden nostalgia, until Ivan grabbed his wrist and held it mid-air, glaring at him with a mix of different expressions. 

"What do you think you're doing?..“ 

His voice was without emotion, but that itself made it appear sad. 

"I .. I'm sorry..“

Alfred felt like he had been stabbed, but Russia was quick to change it. Tenacious thrusts followed the short lived mood change, jerking Alfred back into the situation at hand. He choked on his moan as Ivan wrapped one of his hands around his throat. He had obviously hit that nerve that triggered Ivan's violent tendencies, but fuck.. 

Alfred felt at bliss, in a very fucked and fucked up way, with Ivan hitting that certain spot with precision. Higher up, the hand was holding him tight, choking him only slightly at first, but he felt the pressure increasing the closer they both got, stars emerging as he glared up at Ivan. 

Ivan showed the tiniest bit of mercy as he let go of his neck, burying himself deep in Alfred, coming hard. Alfred's orgasm followed shortly, without having ever been touched this whole time. 

He rasped out something that sounded like Ivan's name, might have been a slur, too.   
Alfred didn't dare close eyes, even at the brink of exhaustion... he didn't want Russia to leave, as much as he hated him... hated? He maintained that opinion to make himself feel more at ease. 

Ivan was catching his breath, pulling out of Ivan with a suppressed moan. Alfred treasured those sounds, because they were rare. The only thing rarer, was Ivan showing affection and to Alfred's surprise, he leaned down and planted soft kisses wherever he had touched the American in harsher ways. Alfred couldn't resist as his hand found Ivan's hair again. This time he combed his hand through the soft locks, like he did on their first shared night. 

Nostalgia was cruel on him. 

Ivan withdrew, too soon. Again that feeling of having gotten stabbed, as the man organized his clothes unceremoniously. Alfred got halfway up with shaking arms, as Russia was already on his way out, removing the chair blocking the door. He looked back briefly, Alfred couldn't pinpoint the look in his eyes, but it was humiliating .

The door closed. Alfred's nails dug into his palms, the knuckles of his fists white. His eyes burned, torn between wanting to cry and yell. Instead he hit the table with his right, causing the coffee cup France had left on the other of the table to jump and topple over. 

"Go to hell where you came from.“


End file.
